


Now, go not backward

by falseknightontheroad



Category: Doctor Faustus - Christopher Marlowe
Genre: Gen, Supernatural Lesbians In Denial, all I remember about writing this is just BLASTING Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence the whole time, forever mourning the lack of T-V distinction in modern standard English
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:49:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24324559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falseknightontheroad/pseuds/falseknightontheroad
Summary: An expansion upon the second appearance of the Good and Evil Angels (act 1, scene...5?).“Raphael has seen fit to assign me to the salvation of this man.”“And thou hast thy work cut out for thee.”
Relationships: Good Angel & Evil Angel (Doctor Faustus)
Kudos: 2





	Now, go not backward

**Author's Note:**

> Some years back I took a class on Marlowe where the professor accepted fanfiction as part or all of a final project submission, and so I tacked this on to the end of my paper. The names were generated on the [Kill Six Billion Demons angel name generator](http://www.generatorland.com/usergenerator.aspx?id=11447). Read Kill Six Billion Demons.
> 
> Almost certainly I will never pick this back up—if for no other reason than I’m not really into biting Good Omens’ steez any more than I have to. Yet! It is here.

81 Docile Song Accuses Lies eyes the devil across the desk. She, of course, would never speak ill of the archangels or the Principalities, would never question their commands. But she _does_ wish that she had been assigned a different man.

Then again, it—as most things—is probably the devils’ fault, because the problem itself is less the man than the devil.

The particular devil in question grins mirthlessly at her. She is, as is 81 Docile Song Accuses Lies herself, arrayed for battle; when they appear, they must do so in the guise expected of them by the assigned. 81 Docile Song feels the weight of false wings at her back, the koncerz at her hip, and remembers—what was his name—Jarosław, the hussar, who she’d narrowly saved. The devil, in the garish dress of a Landsknecht, eyes greener than possible for a human, leans over the man agonizing at his desk and says “I haven’t seen _thee_ around for a while.” The familiarity stings for all that it is expected.

“Verdant,” 81 Docile Song acknowledges her. It pains her some to shorten the other’s name so, but either of the alternatives are worse, and using her full and true name would lead to unjustified combat and distract 81 Docile Song from the task at hand. “Raphael has seen fit to assign me to the salvation of this man.”

“And thou hast thy work cut out for thee.”

“ _The god thou servest is thine own appetite, wherein is fixed the love of Beelzebub_ ,” the man murmurs.

“See?”

81 Docile Song glares at Verdant, the masklike face with its smooth-carved lines and lips always turned up at the corners. (She will reflect, later, on how that face has not changed its form any time they have met, not since—) Turning to the man, she lays a hand on his shoulder; he visibly starts and stares at her, though of course he cannot fully see her—only the form.

“Sweet Faustus, leave that execrable art,” she says, as kindly as possible.

Maybe he does not only not see her fully, but not at all; the doctor stares through her as though hypnotized. “Contrition, prayer, repentance—what of them?”

Verdant scoffs. 81 Docile Song ignores her. “They are means to bring thee unto heaven.”

Verdant butts in, grabbing 81 Docile Song by the wrist and leaning in front of the doctor. “Rather illusions, fruits of lunacy, that make men foolish that do trust them most.” She stares 81 Docile Song in the eyes upon “foolish.” 81 Docile song yanks her hand back.

“Sweet Faustus, think of heaven and heavenly things—”

“No, Faustus, think of honor and wealth!”

81 Docile Song can _feel_ the slip, deep within herself, as the man resolves his course. Next time, she reassures herself. Next time, she will emerge the victor— _will rescue this man’s soul from Hell Itself_.

They are dismissed. Verdant shows no sign of preparing to leave the room; therefore 81 Docile Song will stay. Of course, to ensure that Verdant cannot work on his soul while she is absent, only for that. She knows Verdant, and Verdant must be watched.

She watches. Verdant strolls through the room, tapping her fingers against the spines of the books, the globe on its shelf; 81 Docile Song would assume her preoccupied, but she knows Verdant, and knows when she is about to speak.

“ _Sweet_ Faustus?” Verdant still idly spins the globe and has not turned to face her. “Doss, I would say that it is I and not thou who should be concerned with flattery.”

81 Docile Song grits her teeth. To shorten an angel’s name in such a way—even more than “Verdant” is a shortening—she remembers when Verdant had spoken of “Gabe,” and “Raph,” and 81 Docile Song had nearly shattered the devil’s form for removal of _El_. Nearly. “You would be right.”

Verdant does not turn. “Have I not earned “thou” from thee?” There is a trace of hurt in her voice, and 81 Docile Song stares past her head at the books of necromancy, reminds herself of her purpose. Her wrist still remembers the touch.

“You _had_.” 81 Docile Song will not investigate why that hurts. “You lost it.”

“And this blind fool of a human has earned it?”

Ah. “All humans have; we are commanded—”

“ _We_?” Verdant turns, now. Her expression remains unchanged.

“We.” 81 Docile Song thinks of Heaven, of the Light of Lights. “You and your—your kind simply disobey. And besides, I have heard you call humans “thou”.”

“As they are _beneath us_ ,” and Verdant sneers. “Thou, and _thy kind_ , dost it because thou _lovest_ them. As thou art commanded to.”

“Which is it,” 81 Docile Song responds, “when you do it to me?”

Verdant does not answer. 81 Docile Song does not want an answer, or will not say that she wants one, which amounts to the same thing.

-

81 Docile Song does not request a reassignation. She divests her shell of a form on re-entering Heaven, informs the Principality who must be informed of the particulars of her case, and waits for the next time she is to be called. She remembers Verdant— _Verdant Gaze Heals the Greedy_ , and in that time they had not had nor needed numbers for there were no humans yet to save—and her true shape, the knot of wings and eyes, the holy fire.

49 Gilded Mask Questions the Horizon asks after 81 Docile Song’s well-being a couple times, clicking around her on insectile legs. 81 Docile Song fends them off gently, though grateful for their concern. It is nothing, really; the fact of devils is distressing. The fact of this particular devil is not a problem. It is not.


End file.
